


For Grandad

by BarPurple



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Poppy Day, Remembrance Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 17:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5172347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleventh of November</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Grandad

Crisp; that was the best description of that November Sunday. There’d been a fog that had hung around until nine in the morning, but then the air had cleared to leave a cold autumn day.   
The streets of London were busy in places, but along Baker Street they were almost empty. Sherlock bounded up the stairs to his flat with all the excitement that came with solving a case. It was only the silence from within that slowed his enthusiasm. 

Except, it wasn’t silence that thicken the air and slowed his pace; the sound of the television could be heard and perhaps in some way that prepared the genius for what waited him beyond the door.

John Watson was standing in front of the lit TV screen at attention. Sherlock took less than a second to remember the date and fully understand the reason. As he moved further into the flat he realised the true significance. John’s face was wet with tears, but not a sound came from the former solider.

Sherlock’s jaw clenched and he did something that few, if they were ever told, would believe. He walked softly to his friend’s side and stood straight backed beside him. He did not try to assume military attention, he had not that right, but he stood as formally as he could beside his friend, as the Captain remembered those he had fought beside, those who had not come home alive.

As the parade made its way passed the Cenotaph John’s breath caught in his chest. He felt Sherlock join him in his vigil and gave a sigh. He mourned the fallen and the lost, but this time he did not count himself among them.

Sherlock did not relax until John stepped away from his post. He did not try to comfort his friend with empty words; that was not in his character, nor would it have done any good. Instead Sherlock Holmes put the kettle on and made John Watson a cup of tea; a little gesture that spoke more than words ever could.

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock takes the role I took when I was younger and found my Grandad watching the Remembrance Day Parade.


End file.
